


The Grand Deceiver and the Bluff Honest Man of Action

by Dans-le-Vif (Criz)



Series: The Grand Deceiver and the Bluff Honest Man of Action [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2020-12-25 00:32:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21108530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Criz/pseuds/Dans-le-Vif
Summary: - a collection of small stories snippets about the roles they play and the people they are -(mostly) fluff stuff for Richelieu/Tréville of the BBC series The Musketeers





	1. Did you mean it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't worry, all will be well in the long run ...

"Did you mean it?"

The Cardinal, clad in black robes with the distinct red trimming, stood in front of his desk, his back turned towards the Captain of the Musketeers.

It must have been the fifth time he rearranged the ring on his right hand ever so slightly since Tréville had entered the room.

Tréville stood a few feet away, head lowered, his eyes to the ground.

The Cardinal's question hung in the air. Still unanswered. 

Did he mean it? Yes, he did ... he does.

But Tréville did not want to answer the question. He had hoped to never again be reminded of what he had said, as a matter of fact he had hoped it had all been a bad dream, brought about by his brush with death.

–--

It was almost two months ago when Tréville had nearly died. 

The bullet meant for the Cardinal was lodged in his side. He had been shot before, but this was worse, way worse. They were safe for the moment in an abandoned tower, but he had feared that this would be the end for him.

And he had wanted to confess. The Cardinal would not have been his first choice of priest, but he would have to make do.

'There is one more thing,' he had said, 'I ... I uhh ...'. 

He would die a coward.

'Y-you're not as ... hated as you might think.'

And with that Tréville's mind had sunk into darkness.

He hadn't seen the look on Richelieu's face.

He hadn't heard the clopping of approaching horses.

He hadn't noticed the entrance of his Musketeers and the Cardinal's doctors.

\---

Two months in which they hadn't talked with one another except for the bare minimum that their work required.

If only Richelieu had asked differently. Anything that would give Tréville hope that perhaps he had interpreted what had been said in another way.

The corners of the Cardinal's black robes came into his view, the red trimming sidling cross the floor.

"Did you mean what you said?"

The Captain's gaze shifted to the side.

Then, without thinking, Tréville stepped forward to cover the distance between them.

And he kissed Richelieu.

A kiss of passion.

Two people who had developed a fledgling love for one another despite their differences and against all odds, finally admitting their feelings and finding the courage to move forward.

That's what it could have been. What it should have been.

But it wasn't. 

Tréville didn't know what to do beyond the first step and Richelieu stood frozen in place, neither breaking away, nor returning the kiss. 

'The bluff honest man of action' Richelieu had once called him, right now he would probably call him an idiot. It certainly was what Tréville thought of himself at this moment.

Hesitantly, the Captain stopped and took a step backwards.

"Dismissed.", Richelieu said flatly the moment the kiss ended.

It only garnered a puzzled look from Tréville, but he didn't move.

"You're dismissed, Captain. Get out."

Without a word of protest, Tréville turned and trudged out of the office.

If he had turned around he would have seen that Richelieu was barely able to keep his composure. He managed to lean against the desk and with some effort got around it to let himself sink into the chair.

Armand rubbed his temples with his outstretched fingers. A long walk, today he would definately take a very long walk after lunch.

'That could have gone better.'

Tréville walked at a fast pace through the corridors of the Palais Cardinal. He wanted to leave it behind as fast as possible. With his thoughts preoccupied by what just happened he put on his hat only to realize that something was off. It didn't sit right.

When he took it off again he noticed that it was out of shape. His fist had clenched too tightly where he had held it.

Jean sighed, he'd have to fix that later. There was a lot he'd have to fix later.

Relieved he stepped out of the Palais and took a deep breath.

'That could have gone better.'


	2. A quiet moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning:  
fluff with benefits ... a.k.a. smut a.k.a. kinda nsfw
> 
> set relatively early in their relationship when Richelieu still worried that someone might catch on to them ;)

Jean let out a soft moan.

He lay on his back in the Cardinal's bed, while Armand rubbed his hips against Jean's at a slow pace.

'This is gonna be the end of me', he thought. 

He loved that pace, but he also hated it. Tréville had no idea how Armand did it, but those slow movements always got him. That agonyzingly slow rhythm, it had such a long, steady built-up, but once he got past the peak, he fell ... and he fell hard.

But they weren't there yet.

Richelieu propped himself up on his arms, allowing some space between them. Easing the pressure a bit, but ever so slightly increasing the pace and vigour of his thrusts. 

Another roll of his hips. Another moan from Jean, deeper this time.

Richelieu shot a quick glance towards the door, wondering if anyone outside might have heard him, than down at Jean.

"Be quiet.", he hissed.

"Or what?"

"Or you'll be gagged."

Jean tilted his head to the side a bit, a sly smirk on his face. 

"Empty promises."

Armand's movements ceased. Garnering a protesting grunt from Tréville.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You always say that," Jean said, faking to pout, "but you never act upon it."

"Oh, really?", Richelieu moved off Jean.

'Merde!'

The thought shot through the Captain's mind, but it was too late. He had messed up, but perhaps he could salvage the situation. There might be something to get Armand to resume, if he found the right words.

'Think, Jean, think!'

But he worried unnecessarily. 

Richelieu leaned over to the night stand, opened the top drawer and pulled out a long, thin piece of red cloth. Then he settled back into his position on top of Tréville's hips, adjusting himself until he felt comfortable again.

"You've prepared?"

Of course he had, Tréville mentally reprimanded himself for even questioning it.

"The thought crossed my mind after I first mentioned it.", came Armand's dry reply.

"Are you sure about this?"

The wicked grin that spread across Jean's face was answer enough, but he added "I would have preferred another colour.".

His tongue darted out slightly to lick his lips before he opened his mouth to let Armand apply the cloth.

When he was done tying it behind Tréville's head, Richelieu teasingly pulled the hair a bit to adjust the angle of Jean's head. Leaning down until his mouth was next to the Captain's ear he whispered.

"Quiet now."

A muffled giggle was his answer.

Armand resumed his previous position and continued where he had left off a few moments ago.

With the cloth dampening the sound, Jean saw no reason in holding back and gave it his all. Armand could feel the moans, the groans and the sighs where their bodies touched more than he could hear them.

He locked eyes with Tréville.

"You're impossible."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not pictured:  
Richelieu's secretary Charpentier standing on the other side of the doors, his ear pressed against the wood. While the physician Citois keeps asking him if he can hear anything, hoping that the silence means Richelieu suffocated Tréville with a pillow.
> 
> Spoiler alert: Citois doesn't like the Captain of the Musketeers very much, more on that later XD


	3. How could this have happened?

Tréville had been lying awake for a few minutes, taking in the view in front of him. 

It didn't happen often that Armand slept longer than him. Richelieu's sleep had become more regular, the interruptions during the night were fewer. But even if he slept through the night, he would usually wake up before Tréville.

Seeing Armand so relaxed still felt strange, yet Jean couldn't stop looking. 

Or was it because of that?

Because of the contrast to Richelieu's expression most of time? Because the angle of the eyebrows seemed unnatural without the tension? Because the wrinkles appeared less deep, yet even in this calm moment they were visible as thin lines across the sleeping man's face? 

Not surprising after decades of frowing over the fate of King and Nation. 

'He's ruining himself for the sake of France', Jean thought. 

It wasn't obvious in these silent moments. 

But in the long run, everything he did for France took more and more away from him. And eventually it would become too much. Or did Richelieu have enough energy in him to see the fruits of his labours?

In the long run, who would win?

Not that anyone besides Tréville would ever really care. Certainly not the people at Court or the people within France and without who wanted him gone or dead.

'How could this have happened?', Jean wondered.

How could he have possibly fallen for this terrible man? 

The Grand Deceiver. Whose shadow spread across Europe, engulfing everyone in war until France at last stood on top. Victorious.

Tréville closed his eyes and leaned forward to kiss Armand on the forehead, hoping he wouldn't wake him.

'How did I let this happen?', he asked himself and let out a soft sigh.


	4. I am trying to work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> after a few days on the road Jean just wants to cuddle, but Armand needs to finish some work

"Jean ... I am trying to work."

Tréville and Richelieu hadn't seen each other in over a week while the Captain of the Musketeers accompanied the King on a trip outside of Paris.

All he had wanted since returning to the city was to spent a quiet moment with Armand, but the Cardinal insisted on finishing reading some letters. Important affairs of state. As always.

At least Armand had agreed to do the reading on the couch, and that's where they were now, both men already wearing their nightgowns. Jean had settled in, leaning upright against the backrest, so the other man could effectively use him as a pillow while going through his correspondence.

It was getting colder these days and they used a large blanket to keep warm.

Jean closed his eyes and tried to get some rest, not much else he could do right now. The occasional rustling of paper and the shift in weight told him when Richelieu was leaning forward to the table to fetch the next batch of letters.

The Captain had tried a few times to bring the Cardinal closer, hug him tight, nuzzle the nape of his neck, brush his mouth against his ears and burrying his face in the curly, grey hair. The usual things he did when he wanted to cuddle at the end of a long day, let alone after a week on the road.

While Armand was usually welcoming those small gestures, he remained unreceptive tonight. Each time Jean tried something, he was rebuffed by the Cardinal with some variation of 'I have work to do' or 'The longer you keep distracting me, the longer it will take to finish'. And judging by the sound of his voice Richelieu was getting increasingly frustrated.

He wasn't the only one.

'Those damn papers better be important', Tréville thought to himself. Taking a deep breath, he rubbed a hand across his face and resigned to his fate.

Jean suddenly woke from his nap. Some noise had disturbed him, he looked around to figure out what it was. Armand leaned heavily against his chest, a single letter clasped at an odd angle in his hand, another was caught in a fold of the blanket and when Jean carefully leaned forward he could see the other pages spread across the floor.

"Guess you're done reading for tonight.", he said softly, addressing the other man, but not wanting to wake him at the same time. Tréville carefully gathered the pages within reach and put them aside, then he unwrapped the blanket.

Armand made a disapproving sound in his sleep and pulled his exposed feed closer to his body.

With due care, Jean moved Armand's nightshirt over his naked feet to keep him a little warm, then he shifted and used one foot for ballance while he shoved the papers on the floor to the side with the other so he won't slip on them. 

With the papers out of the way, he cradled Armand in his arms until he found the proper ballance and then stood up. Jean still had an eye on the floor in case he had missed one of the letters in the dim light, as he carefully carried Richelieu to the bed, avoiding the creaking floor boards that he knew of.

Tréville let Armand sink onto the bed and shuffled him under the covers, after a quick search he found the small blanket they kept in the bed somewhere when the temperatures dropped and wrapped it around the Cardinal's feet. Slowly Richelieu unfolded, a blissful expression on his face.

"You could have had that hours ago," Jean muttered silently, yet he couldn't help but be amused at how easy it could be to keep the Cardinal happy and content sometimes.

Speaking of which, he walked over to the couch and gathered all the dropped letters and put them in a separate pile on the table. Tréville didn't look forward to a rude awakening the next morning if Richelieu woke up to see the mess on the floor. 

He gave the blanket a disgruntled look after he had folded it for the third time and the edges still didn't match up. It would have to do. 

Then he moved about the room, blowing out all the candles , using only the last light from the dying fire in the fire place to find his way back to the bed. For a moment he contemplated putting another log into the fire to keep it going a little longer, but he didn't feel cold, on the contrary. And Armand seemed warm enough, too. 

After all, it wasn't winter yet, just a bit cold. But then, people always mocked him for his 'southern heat' and how untroubled he was by cold temperatures.

Tréville finally joined Armand in bed. He tried not to lift the blanket too high when getting in to avoid any cold air getting in along with him, but Richelieu woke up nonetheless. Blinking sleepily and muttering something, Armand moved closer to Tréville. He dove beneath the covers and was almost completely hidden, only some of his curls sticking out, his head rested against Jean's chest. 

'That'll work', Tréville thought before dozing off as well.


	5. A message for Captain Tréville

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some funny fluff for a change
> 
> it may be of advantage to have read the chapter titled "Did you mean it?", but it's not a necessity

Tréville leaned against the railing, overlooking the yard of the Musketeer garrison as he often did. He looked down at the table directly below and noticed the infamous group taking a long break, chatting and jesting.

'Skipping work duty again, aren't we?', he thought to himself. Sometimes he let it slip even though he knew he shouldn't. All of his men deserved to be treated the same. Fair and equal.

They were his best men though, working exceptionally well together, brothers in arms. Their shenanigans were also the cause for his greying temples and possibly an early grave. One of those days they were bound to give him a heart attack.

If the Captain was the betting type, he'd put his money on Aramis' loins being the cause of it in same shape or form …

He snapped back to attention when someone rode into the yard and came to an abrupt halt. Tréville knew this man, he had seen him before. Trying to put the face to a location, he realized he had seen him all over Paris, including the Palais Cardinal.

"I have a message for Captain Tréville.", he announced, looking around for the recipient.

Jean gave a sharp whistle to get the man's attention, then gave him a nod. But before the messenger could dismount, Porthos had come over and offered to relay the note.  
  


The Captain made his way to the staircase, while Porthos eagerly ran up the stairs, taking two, sometimes three steps at once.

The tall Musketeer handed over the note. "What is it?"

Tréville turned it over, looking at the front and back, but there was no indication who sent it, the note was closed with a blank seal. He wanted to ask the messengers, but the young man had already turned his horse and left through the gate just as quickly as he had arrived.

The Captain broke the seal and unfolded the upper part of the note.

_~The feeling is mutual~_

A smile grew on Tréville's face. Slowly, but steadily, as he realized what it meant. It was the opposite of his worst fears. He probably blushed, Jean hoped that he didn't, but was afraid he did, nothing to be done about it.

His heart beat in his chest like a little butterfly and he felt like a smitten young lady. It was embarassing, and if the letter hadn't made him blush, the embarassment about his reaction certainly would.

A few weeks ago he had nearly died and confessed to the Cardinal. An implication that he loved him among other things.

A few days ago Richelieu had called him into his office to seek confirmation. And instead of giving it, Tréville had kissed him. Only to be dismissed afterwards and since then waiting for a sign. Any sign. Ideally one that didn't get him executed.

Tracing his thumb over the paper, over the writing, Tréville read the words again.

_~The feeling is mutual~_

The snickers from below interrupted his thoughts.

"What does it say?", a dumbfounded Porthos asked him, while the Captain glanced over to the others, only to catch Aramis whispering something to d'Artagnan and the snickering began anew. Athos merely shook his head.

Tréville closed the note and moved towards the door to his rooms.

"Report to the stable master for work duty!"

With some satisfaction and a slight amount of joy he noted their protests. Those ended abruptly however when he shut the door. The Captain considered the matter closed now. With any luck his Musketeers did, too, they had a nasty habit of not getting when he was done talking to them.

Tréville walked over to his desk and sat down, unfolding the top of the note again.

It was then that he noticed that there was more writing, so he unfolded the lower part of the note as well.

_~Yours ...~_

Puzzled Jean stared at the note.

'Who the hell is Édouard Gucherey?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for those who don't know:  
apparently sometimes Richelieu's signature looks more like 'Édouard Gucherey'


	6. Is it time already?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you'd think Citoys would be happier if the Cardinal slept through the night ...

François Citoys stood in front of the doors leading to the Cardinal's bed-chambers. The doctor was nervously rubbing his hands, occasionally pacing up and down, never leaving the door out of sight, prick-eared for any sound that might come from the other side.

Next to him Charpentier stirred in his bed.

"Is it time already?" The secretary yawned loudly and stretched his arms.

"It's past time." François said matter-of-factly, still staring at the doors. "But His Eminence hasn't called for us yet."

"So, why are we up?", Denis rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"Doesn't it bother you?", the doctor asked, "Dont't you wonder what he's doing in there?"

Charpentier rolled his eyes. "I'd say it's pretty obvious what they're doing and that's why we're sleeping in the antechamber and not in there anymore."

"THAT'S NOT WHA--" He stopped, then proceeded with a hushed voice. "That's not what I meant."

His eyes darted nervously around the room. "What if it's some trick by the musketeers?", there was genuine concern in his voice, but the secretary was not picking up on it.

Denis punched his pillow back into shape, getting ready to lay down again. "Let me know when he needs us."

"What if he does. Now.", the doctor said frantically, "What if the musketeer has ... hurt him and His Eminence is unable to call for help?"

Charpentier sat upright, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "François, listen, I know you ... have reservations when it comes to Captain Tréville, but he's not here to hurt our master."

He gestured towards the doors. "Have you seen him lately? Like, really looked at him? He's happy and you probably know this better than anyone, but he's in better shape than a long ... looong time."

He finished, but when Citoys did not answer, Denis added "Perhaps ever."

"It might be a ruse. Lull His Eminence into a feeling of safety before they strike."

Charpentier rolled his eyes again, then let himself drop back onto the bed.

"Try and get some sleep, François."

"We should check at least if His Eminence needs us." The doctor reached for the door handle.

"_Goodnight, François._", Denis said with an even yet irritated tone, nestling back into his blankets.

At the sound of the door being opened, he shot back up.

"You're not seriou--"

"Shhht." Citoys gestured to the secretary to be silent, then he slipped into the room and quietly closed the door behind him.

\-----

There was not much light in the Cardinal's bed-chambers save for the pale moonlight that shone through the large windows.

But Citoys knew this room that had basically been his home for the past few years. He knew where the furniture was, every creaking floorboard. Even blind he could have found his way around here.

And so the doctor walked as quietly as possible to the bed, part of him preparing for the worst.

To some degree what he saw _was_ the worst for him. Tréville lay on his back, shirtless. Of course he would be shirtless. His infamous 'southern heat' that he used as an excuse to run around half-naked and indecent.

'Tréeville', mocked the voice in François' mind, 'that oaf can't even say his own name.'

Snuggled against Tréville, the Cardinal lay on his side. He was comfortably burried under the sheets, only the upper half of his head was visible. That and part of his arm that lay across Tréville's chest.

Citoys had to admit, that he did indeed look peaceful, and it broke his heart. He covered his mouth to stifle the sobbing.

'Why, Your Eminence?'

He shut his eyes to suppress the tears.

'Why this one?', he thought. 'I already serve you in any way. Your Eminence only need to ask.'

'Not ask', he mentally corrected himself, 'Demand. Order. Or just say even.' The slightest notion would have sufficed and Citoys would have expanded his services to the Cardinal in any way he would have needed. Or desired.

When the doctor had regained enough control over his emotions, he leaned forward and carefully took the Cardinal's exposed hand into his own. With a watchful eye on both men to ensure that he didn't wake either, he slowly felt his way to the spot where he could check the pulse.

Calm and steady. Unusual considering the conditions of His Eminence, but the physician in Citoys was satisfied, time to leave.

He let the Cardinal's slender hand slip carefully from his grasp to rest once more on Tréville's chest.

The doctor made his way back to the door, once he crossed into the antechamber, closed the doors and rested his back against the wood. His feet gave way and he sank slowly down until he sat on the floor.

With his head pressed against the knees François could no longer hold back and started to weep. Sniffling and an occasional sharp inhale interrupted his crying.

'I would have done everything for Your Eminence. Everything.'

'Why this one?'

Over in his bed Charpentier pretended not to notice. He had tried to calm down the doctor when he last sat on the floor, crying at night, on the day they were ordered to vacate their master's bed-chambers. Only to be beaten up by the usually calm and composed physician.

Denis hadn't denounced the doctor and thankfully the Cardinal only expressed his hopes for a speedy recovery, ordering Citoys to have an eye on the process and assist as necessary. If he turned up with bruises again, questions might arise.

And questions could be dangerous in the Palais Cardinal.


	7. The Fire in his Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little something that would be set between some of the last few scenes of BBC's The Musketeers 1x06
> 
> as usual ~my~ Richelieu is a mix of Capaldieu, a bit of history and some personal additions.  
Hope you'll enjoy it anyway :)

"I want to frig."

Tréville's face went blank. A thousand thoughts ran through his mind at that moment.

They stood in one of the outbuildings. The guards present where all in Richelieu's pay. Still, what if someone heard him? The Cardinal didn't seem to care.

Marie de Medici hadn't cleared the corridor yet. While clearly preoccupied with thoughts of her  
defeat what if _she_ had heard him? The Cardinal didn't seem to care about this either.

Tréville stared in disbelief after her, anxious that she might turn around. If she had heard Richelieu's words, what then? They couldn't kill the Queen Mother. But the price she would ask for would jeopardize everything. After all that just transpired she would never keep quiet about this. She would ask for Richelieu's head.

On a silver platter. 

Bedded on red watered silk.

Tréville blinked to break his stare and looked at the man beside him. 

Armand stared back.  
Fire in his eyes.

Magnificent bastard.

He had changed clothes before engaging de Medici. Fully aware of the effect the robes could have on her. For years he had dangled himself in front of her like a forbidden fruit. Tempting.

Whenever she got too close for his liking he would remind her that he was a Cardinal. A man of the church. Remind her that he was off-limits. Probably gave her feelings of guilt for the very desires he had kindled in her.

Magnificent bastard.

"Are you mad?"

"Now."

"What if someone hears you? Hears _us_?"

The red accents danced across a sea of black robes when Richelieu set in motion. He swept Jean away, out of sight. But no necessarily out of hearing.

"Someone could still hea--"

His protests were cut short when Richelieu pressed a passionate kiss on his lips.

Good Lord. He was mad.

Mad with energy and power. 

Tréville should have known. He had watched them from the shadows earlier before being called. How he bowed low to the Medici, pretending to submit. 

How he circled her, almost like a dance.

How he suggested, letting her fill in the blanks. Giving her a chance to revel in her supposed victory to pull him in.

It was all a trick.

Magnificent Bastard.

She was defeated before she set foot on the first step of the stairs above. He had it all planned out. Richelieu wanted her to enjoy her victory so her defeat would hurt even more.

Queue Tréville entering from the shadows to bring the news of her grandson's tragic death. Along with the death of her ambitions to sit on the throne once more.

Richelieu must have loved every second of it.

It was in the rise of his eyebrows. A twitch of muscles on his face. The barely contained joy as he called Tréville forth. 

In the way he pushed his words lik tabbing her with a sword. 'An old, deluded woman with _nothing_.'

But he wasn't done.  
If one knew where to look one could see it in the pointed finger. In the snap with which he had summoned his guards to present her loyal lackey. 

Watch and weep, Marie, your plans are dead.

Magnificent bastard.

It didn't matter now. All that mattered were Armand's lips on his own. He slowly walked backwards as Richelieu pressed on. Herding him towards the small room.

The door fell shut with a heavy band and from the corner of his eye, the corner of conscious thought, Tréville saw the leather garment and the black cloak that the Cardinal usually wore. He must have slipped in here earlier to change clothes. All for show. Just to drive the knife of his revenge ever deeper.

"My Musketeers will be here soon."

The Cardinal didn't care.

He barely gave the two of them enough time to breathe as he went for another kiss. Deep and hungry.

Tréville felt the elegant fingers working fast but frenzied to undo the fastenings on his pants while he clumsily fumbled at the buttons of the black robes.

Good Lord. The mood he was in. 

It didn't happen often, but when it happened it rolled in like a thunderstorm. _He_ rolled in like a thunderstorm. Mighty and unstoppable.

Armand batted Tréville's hands aside and ordered him to clear the desk. It was Jean's last chance to save anything from being swept off in one violent motion. Meanwhile Richelieu set to work on the robes by himself. Starting from the bottom and stopping at the waist.

The task was finished and Tréville had barely turned around when Richelieu pushed him against the desk. He pressed himself against Jean. Hard and already leaking. 

Richelieu shoved the Captain further onto the desk. Who knew that spindly church man had it in him?  
Any fear of not being able to keep up was wiped from Jean's mind when Richelieu wetted some of his fingers with spit, wrapped them around their cocks and started to rub.

He won't be gentle, Jean knew. He never was during those times, that was one of the things Jean had figured out during the few times that it had happened before. Armand was peculiar at the best of times and his capabilities when it came to intimacy were off the trodden path, but Jean wasn't even sure if these moods qualified.

There was an urge and urgency. Fire, burning and energy. This was as much about intimacy as sticking a hand into a flame was about keeping it warm.

Richelieu leaned forward, supporting himself with his free hand on the desk next to Tréville's head. His upper body still clad in the robes before they split open to wrap around the Musketeer's lower body.

He thrust harder down against the desk with Jean trapped underneath him. Tréville could hear the scraping of nails across wood beside his ear.

Somewhere between the waves of pleasure he managed to say something, "... you'll scratch the varnish."

_Poetic_

The Cardinal didn't care.

Jean knew Richelieu wouldn't be able to keep this pace up. During the few times this happened Armand had always exhausted himself quickly. There was no stopping him, Jean had tried to pace him the first time, when he hadn't known what was going on. 

The result was a grumpy Richelieu who retreated to his quarters. Alone. Sulking for almost a week before Tréville saw anything more of him than a spiteful signature on the most necessary notes for the Musketeers.

Why did he have to wear his robes today? Jean knew why he had changed into them, but why did he have to wear them _now_? As if this wasn't difficult enough without Richelieu effectively still looking like a Cardinal up until the robes split open where Richelieu's thin hand firmly held onto their cocks and worked them in tandem.

Jean wouldn't last much longer. He dared to look up and from the furrowing of Richelieu's brow neither would he. The Cardinal pushed himself back up, removed a cloth from a pocket that Tréville would never find within the endless folds of the robes and wrapped it over their tips just in time.

You'd think after everything Richelieu would show a bit ... more. A bit more acknowledgement of what happened then a slight sigh of relief that could be confused for a soft gasp if you didn't know what had just ended.

With his eyes closed, Jean lay on his back, feeling a drawer within the desk being opened and closed as Richelieu disposed of the cloth before allowing himself to rest for a moment on the Captain's chest.

"What if someone finds it?"

Richelieu sighed. "Someone who knows the value of coin and silence will come fetch it later, get it cleaned and never think of it again."

One of Jean's hands moved to Armand's back while the other buried itself in his curly hair. If only these moments never passed. The things he usually had to do to get Richelieu in a position such as this. More importantly in a mood like this. Content and not argumentative on purpose.

It was fleeting of course. There were still some loose ends concerning the Medici's attempted coup. The chances that they could just pick up later tonight where they were about to leave off in a couple of moments were minimal. Non-existent basically.

"My Musketeers should arrive soon."

Richelieu let out a displeased grunt. 

"Will you ever not hate them for simply existing."

"I make no promises."

"They helped ..."

"We shall see."

With a heavy sigh Richelieu pushed himself up at last.

"Uh-oh ..."

"What?", the Cardinal asked as he followed Tréville's gaze to where it rested on his chest. There was an unmistakable stain.

"Is it yours or mi--", the question was left unfinished as Richelieu's eyes snapped at Jean's and his stern expression cut any further inquiry short.

"... probably doesn't matter." He came closer. "Let me just ...". Richelieu slapped the outstretched hands away. He rebuffed any attempt the Captain made to help him. 

Instead he hissed some instructions: to intercept the Musketeers and to buy him some time.  
He'd take care of the rest.

\-----

The Musketeers had just entered the corridor where their Captain and their Nemesis had dealt the deathblow to the Medici's plans earlier. They had barely finished asking about Richelieu's whereabouts leaving Tréville to try and come up with a reasonable explanation when a familiar rustling sound of robes travelled across the floor.

Richelieu came strolling around the corner at a leisurely pace. Nothing about him betrayed that he must have frantically pulled his stained robes off and dressed as fast as he could by himself in the clothes he had left in the room earlier.

He briefed them on the cover story and then just as casual went on his way. Jean looked briefly after him before turning around to address his Musketeers.

Magnificent Bastard.


End file.
